Erik
by catcorsair
Summary: A stream-of-consciousness exercise a la James Joyce. Erik considers Christine behind her dressing room mirror. Explicit. COMPLETE.


_**Erik**_

_A stream-of-consciousness story a la James Joyce, as per a few convos in a discord server. Please take it with a grain of salt––this was a lot of fun but it's definitely not for everyone! There is a plot, I promise. Explicit!_

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Get out of here, Vicomte. You have overstayed your welcome. Don't you see her, glancing this way and that––she is waiting for me! We have an appointment! You think she is beautiful now, now that you have seen her there upon the stage but I know her better, I know her secrets, I know how beautiful my Christine can be.

Send him off. Send him from you as I've told you, as you've promised, so many times––why does he detain you further? Your triumph tonight was not of his doing, it is mine, mine, sweet Christine––share it with me. I am waiting, still as I always wait, behind the mirror I am waiting, my love. Send him off and let me sing for you. Sing now with your Angel, Christine, your Angel who has made you and who loves you so very much and not this silly fool who understands nothing of what the music means to you––

If he doesn't leave I will kill him. Do you hear that, you blonde bastard? She doesn't want you and I am not a patient fellow. Leave your flowers if you must, and later, soon, later––soon––I will kill you.

What fairness is this? That you should touch her fingers like that, that you, you, you––Vicomte––should caress a hand atop her brow, touch that rose flush upon her cheeks. Why does she give you her hand? Christine, why, when I am here, I am right here––

She's mine, Vicomte. Has she told you? Has she told you how she calls to me, sings for me, makes little sounds for me, me! Me! Vicomte.

Once I watched her touch herself for her Angel––did you know, silly fop? that she fucks herself with her little pink fingers to the sound of my voice? The first time it had happened almost naturally…if you had seen my face behind the mirror! Or the amount that I pumped from my cock for her, to spill upon the mirror, to spill upon the outline of my Little Christine, singing so sweetly there behind the mirror. I am all she wants, I am all she needs. Did you know, Vicomte? Did you know that I came first, with my music in her––I've been inside.

She moaned for me as she sang then––she moaned so prettily, as she sang the _Liebestod_––oh, you are too stupid to know it, to stupid to see that I'd done it on purpose, you stupid Vicomte, but even I must have my harmless pleasures––it was much too much for Little Christine, the _Liebestod_. She could not bear it. In her ecstasy I saw her little fingers creep beneath her petticoats––she didn't notice it at all, would you believe it!

And then they were inside, in the wet, warm, dark places, and she was singing so beautifully for me––oh, I've never nearly taken her more. It hurt, Vicomte, you stupid Vicomte, it hurt me not to take her, do you understand? Of course you do––you think you do––you think it hurts you too––I see your eyes, your lying eyes! Your perfect, thieving eyes. You will not take her from me! to fuck her, do you understand––I will not surrender her to you, I cannot––she is everything good in me and I am nothing more without her, and now that I have fucked her, fucked her not with my cock that I hold here again like a wet fish in my hand, not with my cock but with my music, you must go.

When she fucked herself and I fucked her at the same time as she fucked herself it was as if I were those little pink fingers, as if I had power over them in her little hot hole, her sucking wet-hot hole and all its sweet juices. I have fucked her first, Vicomte, you cock sucking prat, you boob, you absolute arsehole––I fucked her first, do you hear––she's mine––and whatever it is you are trying to do won't work on her tonight, she's too smart for you, she's too good for you––she's too good for either of us but I'm better than you and even if I'm not she's still mine. She's waiting for me, do you see, you little shit, stop touching her hands like that! she's waiting for me, waiting to share the music with me, with her Angel––do you know that I'm her Angel?––so you hear me, me, she wants to be with me, she's only laughing along to be kind to you, you don't know her the way that I know her, I know the secret parts of her, I've seen her stuff her fingers in her little cunt-hole to the sound of my voice! How about you, you little shit? Now go, so I can sing to her again. Haven't I said she's waiting for me?

Christine, my love, my little flower in your summer bloom, your sweet, wet silken bloom––tell him to go and I'll touch you there, I'll make it feel good, you won't even have to do it by yourself––I'll sing for you every day so you can whine and twist and writhe and sigh inside my songs and my songs will crawl inside your little cunt hole, you'll eat them up in your sweet-water pussy and I will be inside of you, that's how I'm inside of you, isn't it enough to have me, me, the music deep inside of you––just don't let him do it, please, don't let him do it––

Do not ignore me, Christine, realize I am here, realize I am behind this damned sheet of glass. I am waiting for you, have you forgotten? Want me, want me, want me like you wanted my voice when you slid your fingers in your sweet little cunt for me––

Please, don't want him. Don't want him. Stop touching him!

I won't take the music from her. Vicomte, will you? What are you offering her, now, as you kneel on your perfect knees and give her your perfect hand and simper with that perfect, perfect, perfect mouth. I hate you, do you know? She will tell you no, she will refuse you––see how you waste your time, she's waiting for me, for me again, for her Angel, for me––I'll kill you, stupid boy, I'll kill you, and I'll watch the light die in your perfect blue eyes for ever having dared to touch her, my Angel, my little Queen, my Christine, Christine, why are you smiling, please, my love, stop smiling, stop kissing, stop kissing, oh god won't you stop kissing––

She's mine, Vicomte. I don't care that your hands are upon her now, I don't care that your lips are on her throat, that her hands are in your perfect hair, please, please, please––Christine, don't do that––she is mine. It's my voice that she listens for, she looks for, she waits for me, stupid boy, she waits for me, she fucks herself with her fat little fingers, for me! Christine, don't let him do that! If I sang now she would stop you, she would remember that she doesn't want you, that she wants me, she would remember how I love her, I love you, oh god, Christine, don't let him do that, he's not meant to do that, no one else is meant to do that––

I could kill you for this, Vicomte. I will, I am sure of it––if she says a word against you it will be the end of you. Christine, tell me, my love, my sweet, good, innocent Christine, do you want it to be me? What if it were your Angel instead of your beautiful boy? What if it were me, kneeling before you, me with my fists knotted up in the piles of your skirts, my hair, that you wound about your fingers now, my tongue, that ate at the sweet sugars of your cunt, Christine, stop him! Say no, my love, say no, only breathe it, and I will kill him, you will never have to see him again, him, him, the perfect one who stains you, the perfect one who does what I cannot––

Little Christine, how you betray your Angel, how you have shunned me! I could punish you too, for this, I could kill him and make you watch me kill him, I could put my hands where his hands are now, I could put my lips where his lips are now, put my tongue where his tongue is now––I could do a lot of things––I can do a lot. I should take what is mine but I won't.

If I kissed you, down there, down there like you let him kiss you down there, would you like it? If it were me, just me––just me, your Angel, kissing your sugary little cunt? Would you hold your legs up high in the air for me, would you spread your juicy white thighs like peach-flesh about my cheeks, while I drink up all the parts of you? I will bury my tongue in you, I will bury it like a worm in your womb, I will attach myself to the inside of you so that for the rest of your days my mouth is your cunt, and every song I sing will burst out in a holy chorus in the wet mouth of your cunt as if it were a child we made. I will fuck you with my fingers, Christine, I will fuck you again and again and again and another time over with my cold fingers, like my ice inside the core of you, until you are screaming and frozen and bursting with water that I brought forth from you like a torrent of Christine upon my fingers, my mouth, my tongue, my dead skin! If I came to you, instead of him, would you take me instead? Would you want me?

Let me tell you my name so I can hear you scream it, scream it as I kiss your cunt, as all your white water pours from the core of you, and sticks against my skin––my ruined skin. Let your swollen cunt-lips kiss my not-lips, my dead lips on my dead face––no no no no you don't want that, you'll scream, you'll scream and you will be frightened and you will hate me, hate the Angel, hate the music. I could not have come to you, Christine, don't you understand?

You wanted to see me. You asked me to come to you, so many times, you begged me on your pink knees, you begged me before the mirror, you didn't want your fingers anymore, you wanted me to take you and have you and taste you and eat you like a Man and not like an Angel but you don't know that I am a Man and not at all an Angel and I want to take you and have you and taste you and eat you like a Man but you, you wanted an Angel who is also a Man, don't you see? I am only love for you and lust for you and need for you and everything for you and I am a Monster, a Monster with a dead face, dead lips, dead fingers, dead cock and you would scream, Christine, you would have screamed and I would rather watch you forever than lose you to that kind of screaming––

My name is Erik, Christine, it's Erik, let me tell it to you, let me breathe it deep inside of you so there is no other name you hear and no other name you speak.

I will keep it a secret. Erik, Erik, Erik like a secret, just say it, say it once because I am not the Angel and I am Erik, here, I am a Man holding his cock behind the mirror while you spread your legs for a Man and laugh with a Man and kiss a Man and no my love you really must stop now, stop now, stop stop stop stop stop

Say my name, Christine, and not his. Say Erik, Erik––I will force it inside of you so that it is the only name you will ever know, I will stain your insides with it, I will brand it upon your organs so that when you are dead and rotten and made of dust and stars there is only me inside of you forever. I will drink the parts of you until I am full, I will sing of you forever, I will never let you die, love me love love love love me don't love him, Christine, stop loving him, Christine, you don't love him like I know you love me Christine––

But don't please don't, don't let him push your skirts aside any more, don't smile and kiss and fumble your hands between his legs and don't, don't, don't take those off, please, keep those things on, no one can see you like that except me, no one should see you like that except me, Christine, no no no no no open your mouth like that for only me––

My cock is real, my cock could fill you, you could take it in your little hand like you take his––you could show me your little winking cunt-hole like you show him, you could ease me deep inside of you like you ease him. My cock could make you make that little sound, I could make you make that little whimpering sound, that heavenly sound, these other sounds too––I could do that for you. If you wanted it of me, I could. What can he do that I cannot? My cock is built up of death and cold and dead cold and it is not a pink cock like his, a soft cock like his, mine wants so much of you, it wants every part of you, it loves you like I love you like I know that I could love you if you let me love you like I want to love you oh god Christine I love you I love you please stop please stop––

Couldn't you have waited? Couldn't you have asked me again? Not this, not him, not that––this isn't singing, it's not like how we sing and soar with voices twisting dancing rutting, it's empty, it's noise, a cacophony of bodies sweating rubbing fucking fucking fucking fucking––

I don't care, you thief, you villain, you little shit Chagny, that her fingers are touching you, touching you when she should be touching me, touching you where she should be touching me––please, Christine, stop now, Christine––you must obey the Angel please––why are you touching him there, don't you know what will happen, look what he is doing to you? What can he give you, that I cannot give you better, harder, harder, harder, fuck you better, I could fuck you better, Christine! Don't you remember how your little fingers slid in your cunt as I sang to you, how hot, how wet your little fingers were, how deliciously they dripped when you finished your sweet work? I would lick it up from the floor for you, I would lick up every drop, and then I would hold you down on the floor and fuck your soaking wet cunt yes yes I would fuck you hard, fuck you harder than he could ever fuck you, fuck your dripping pink cunt until it tore apart from my cock, fuck you soft and sweet and slow, fuck you until we both fell asleep, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you––I'd fuck you until you dripped some more, Christine, I would fuck your little pink holes until you screamed my name, Erik, Erik, that is my name, don't you hear my name, say it, please, Christine, not what you are saying now, I don't like that, don't say that, that isn't right––scream it, Christine, fuck me and say my name, scream Erik, Erik, Erik, stop screaming his––

I'm the only one who makes you sing.

Again and again, I will tell you I love you, again and again and another time after that, I will hold you and touch you and tell you I want you and you will tell me that you want me like I want you and you will love me like I love you and you will not love him, you do not love him, Christine I know you do not love him, how can you love him more than you love me? he cannot sing, he cannot make you scream without his body being right there with you and I don't care that now your fingers are in his mouth and now his teeth are on your throat and now his cock is in your stomach I don't care Christine I don't care I don't care I know that you love me I know that you love me even if you say it to him so sweetly with your soft pink lips in his ear I know that you love me even if you tell him as he groans his name on your chest and I know, I know, I know it, my Christine––


End file.
